Mohamed Yasin, Contributor

He was bored and worried. Prospecting surveys had indicated great potential in the area so he had pumped practically all his resources into the venture. But the rains, the darn seasonal downpours, were threatening his livelihood and future.

Water had saturated the brownish thatched roofs of the Amerindian round huts and the projecting parts drooped dejectedly, Basil thought as he looked across from the pontoon boat that housed him and his six workmen and their precious equipment. The incessant drumming of rain on the rusty zinc sheets of the boat shed was getting to him. He estimated the river had risen by at least five feet. His men could not dive or dredge: It was far too dangerous with the high murky water, undercurrents and rain pouring as for the biblical Deluge. Basil's men griped as they gambled their petty cash. He feared things could erupt if the rains continued.

Rain had been falling for over a week and the jungle settlement on the table-top hill had become an island. Predicting the duration or intensity of downpours was no longer possible these days, Basil thought.

At least he had ample provisions and medicine for his team and quicksilver for the gold. And Chief Kataga's hardy men continued hunting and supplying the camp with wild duck, tapir, peccary, deer and lots of fish. Basil avoided eating the fish; he knew it might be contaminated with the mercury used in the separation of gold dust from the river's silt.

Chief Kataga had beencooperative so far, but Basil read him as a traditionalist Amerindian leader and therefore someone to be wary of. This was his first encounter with a chief whose mode of dressing and insistence on cultural ceremonies made him feel uneasy. In some of the ceremonies they chanted in a doleful manner, as if someone were on the brink of death or had already departed.

Still, Chief Kataga's territory promised what he sought. And money ruled the world. 'Hand wash hand ...' was Basil's motto. He'd always paid for what he wanted; no favours asked.

Finally, the rain stopped and the sun peeked out between mountains of fleecy white clouds against an azure sky. It had been nine days. Basil's spirits rose with the sun. He stuck his feet in his rubber flip-flops, grabbed a calabash bowl, jumped into a corial and bailed the rainwater out of it. He untied the corial from the boat and pushed off with a long paddle. The cleverly carved purple-heart paddle felt heavy and strong. Basil liked that.

"Where you going, boss?" his foreman asked. Bail grinned.

"Just to check out the situation with the flooding."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No, no, it's okay." Basil waved his arms.

"I want to be alone for a while. Just examine the dredges and equipment and make sure they're okay. Start them up and listen to the motors. I'll talk to the men when I come back."

"Sure, boss, sure," the man said.

The Amerindians were not yet stirring as the slim dugout glided on the swollen, molasses-coloured river. The air felt crisp and refreshing; the pungent tang of decaying vegetation rose from the water, which was everywhere except on high ground. The trees reaching for the sky on either side of the river - which was not wide by Amazonian standards - seemed taller, greener. The strident howls of monkeys, the screeches of squabbling parrots and macaws intermixed with other jungle cacophony, sounded louder and clearer than before as they reverberated through the lush jungle. It was as though the rainforest were a single entity, a pulsating organism, celebrating the renewal of life.

Wanting to dispel his boredom and anxiety, Basil glided aimlessly on the river for a while. What could be better therapy than to drift in the beating heart of nature? When he heard the rumble of the falls, he decided he wanted to see it. Just watching the water tumble in utter carefree freedom relieved him of mundane strains and stresses.

Someone had beaten him to it: another canoe was hitched to a tree. Basil secured his own and scrambled up the stony embankment and into the bush. Soon he could see the falls. It was in full, majestic flow from the rains; it plunged sheer for seven or eight feet, creating a bubbling frothy mass on the rocks below, then tumbled into a shallow granite basin. From the basin the water sped down another steep slope to the river so that the water level in the natural swimming pool remained constant. Basil surveyed the scene. He felt buoyed and had a hunch that soon his divers would pluck from the riverbed some of the biggest diamonds and gold nuggets ever found in this corner of South America. When the diving was finished, he would start dredging the river bottom and tunnel into the riverbanks with his 'missiles'. These mammoth metal drills tipped with diamonds could slice through soil, root, vegetation and rock like a sharp knife slicing through cheese. By the time he returned to the coast he would be one of the wealthiest young gold-and-diamond seekers in the country.

A movement below caught his eyes.

She rose from the tea-coloured water and stood waist deep in it, looking like a nude bronze Greek nymph. The misty spray from the falls pierced the tangled rainbows they made, wetting her anew; her long black hair reached down to the water.

Basil's first instinct was to turn back. But he hadn't seen a naked woman in a long time. It's not worth the risk, he told himself. But still he moved forward.

To avoid problems, Basil had urged his men not to interact with the tribal women. He knew it was difficult for them because the womenappeared so eager and encouraging whenever they visited the settlement for food or to hire out as extra labour. Basil paid his workers well and forbade them from drinking during their stint with him: they could drink all they wanted once the job was done and they had returned to the coastal city. Chief Kataga, he knew, wouldn't tolerate sexual liaisons between Basil or his workers and the tribeswomen. The tiny peaceful village could explode.

Basil had too much at stake. But now he himself seemed unable to restrain himself. His heart pounded like a diesel dredge motor as he stared.

She went under in the swirling water and rose again like a goddess - enjoying herself - Basil thought. Once again he scanned the terrain to ensure that she was alone. He was about to emerge from the bush when she sensed his presence.

"Lora, have you come?" She yelled.

"No, it's not Lora!" he cried out hoarsely as he came out on to the grey granite. It was just about a hundred feet to the water's edge, but Basil felt as though he were traversing miles of hot, rocky ground.

"What? Who ... Oh, it's you, Boss Man!" She shouted back above the roar of the falls; and she sank up to her neck in the water.

"How's the water?"

"Oh, it ... it cold, but nice!"

"Can I join you?"

"I ... I don't know, Boss Man ... No!"

Basil kicked off his slippers and dived in. Closed in on her, he seized her waist from behind as she pushed towards the granite bank.

"No, no!" But she said it, she didn't scream it, and Basil figured that what she really meant was 'Yes'. Not unlike certain pretentious young women in the city, he thought.

He spun her around and stared into her wide deer-like eyes. "Why're you trying to run away?"

"I scared of you, Boss."

"Why? I won't harm you." He put the palm of his hand on her smooth, taut belly.

Then he pushed her to the river bank and hauled her up it, like a child. He was trying to have his way with her while she whimpered and pushed him away. Finally she hissed, "Stop right now - I am Minaroo Kataga."

And Basil stopped. He pulled away and said, "I know. I'm sorry."

Yes, he knew Minaroo. Whenever he visited the chief she would give him surreptitious sidelong glances and smile. He thought she was the most attractive girl in the village.

"I have never been with a man," she told him now. "I don't want this yet ..."

"I thought you liked me," Basil said.

"Yes. But I'm not ready. Also, I respect my father."

Basil saw that he had been wrong about her. She was different from any city girl he had ever met. "I'm glad to hear you like me, but what do you mean, 'respect' Chief Kataga?"

"He warned the women to have nothing to do with outsiders. If he know about this, big trouble for me. You might have to leave."

"I kind of figured he was like that," Basil said.

"But he's a business man, no? If he chases us from here, he'll lose the cash I pay him."

"Well, we need the cash, but he hate what you and the others are doing to our sacred places," she said.

"He has to understand," Basil tried to tell her, "he can't want the money and keep his places sacred."

"But you are killing the land and the trees, and the rivers are dying."

She stood naked before him and Basil thought in the circumstances their conversation was unreal. He tried to concentrate.

"We'll see," he said. "We pay him good money to use the river and the land."

"He believe people like you can do more to protect the land, the trees, the animals, the waters, our ... "

"Listen," he interrupted her, his voice thick. "I want us to meet here again tomorrow. I'll give you money to buy nice things when the traders come. And don't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"I won't tell, but I don't want your money. And I don't want

trouble for you," she told him.

"There won't be trouble. The Chief won't find out."

"How you know that?" Minaroo seemed angry.

He decided to change the subject. "Isn't it dangerous to bathe here alone?"

"No, not really. My friend Lora would join me," she told him. "Besides, my name means 'One protected by three gods'."

"Wow, three! Very interesting." Basil chuckled. He hadn't felt so comfortable with a female in a very long time. Normally he would just want to rid himself of a pressing need and move on. But this Minaroo, though obviously unschooled, seemed smart, spirited, and far tougher than she looked. Her attitude was unusual: the village women mostly appeared quiet and subservient. But then she was the daughter of Chief Kataga.

As if she had read his thoughts, a smile erupted on her broad face; then she turned towards the bush. Basil followed her gaze - and stiffened: from the bush had emerged the muscle-bound, swarthy frame of Chief Kataga and two of his tribesmen. Like ancient tribal warriors their bodies were striped in red, black and yellow, and they carried traditional bows and slings of arrows. At the margin of the scrub, they stood transfixed, as if they were carved like the dugout canoes from unyielding forest logs. Their black hair, cut in a circle and slicked down with palm oil, glistened in the sunlight. A spine-chilling thought ran through Basil"s mind: Quite possibly they had dipped their arrows and spear heads in curare, the natural toxin used to paralyse fish and game for the kill.

Basil steeled himself: he was not one to fear anything or anybody. He and money were the boss, not Chief Kataga and his daughter. Still, there was too much at stake. This could be a disaster if he weren"t careful. For sure, most entrepreneurs of his ilk didn"t give a damn about rainforest conservation. All they wanted was the profitable haulage from its bosom, of sand, stone, timber, gold, diamonds, even humans: whatever was marketable. Basil had seen the bloated fish floating in the rivers, and had noticed the Amerindian children with deformities and horrible sores. Some Amerindian adults had cancer and other diseases hitherto unknown to them. He knew they revered the jungle as a source of both physical and spiritual sustenance. Come to think of it, he, too, looked to the jungle for material gain and, to some extent,spiritual renewal! On occasion, he had agonized briefly about the destruction of the forest. But not for long.

Now, like a mongoose with eyes riveted on some formidable prey, Basil glared at the warriors. They had had the stealth of a jaguar, he thought, to ambush him and Minaroo. What had kept them from killing him? He should have strapped on his Beretta.

Still facing them, he dropped to his knees and with one hand groped for his damp clothing. Minaroo had already donned hers. He tried to grab her, to pull her behind him, to put himself between her and what was clearly the righteous wrath of Chief Kataga. But she eluded his grasp and stood next to him.

The three men started chanting. It sounded sad, more mournful than anything Basil had ever heard.

"Leave this to me, Boss Man," Minaroo told him. "Put on your clothes, quick."

And with that she left his side and walked slowly towards her father and the two warriors.

END

- Mohamed Yasin